I'll Fix It
by weaverofstars
Summary: “I’ll fix it.” He promises. “You always do.” She smiles for the first time in—he barely remembers the date anymore. Ianto/Lisa, Jack/Ianto. For Ianto.


Title: **I'll Fix It.**  
Genre: Torchwood, angst/dark  
Rating: PG14  
Pairing: Ianto/Lisa, Ianto/Jack  
Summary: _"I'll fix it." He promises. "You always do." She smiles for the first time in—he barely remembers the date anymore. _For Ianto

--

"God, do I need caffeine." His dark-skinned beauty groans as she collapses on their couch.

He smiles, a warm and loving smile, and runs a hand through her short hair. "I'll fix that, love."

He continues stroking her hair until she kicks him off the sofa and yells at him to get her a mug already then.

--

The first few days, after he rips the love of his life from the cold metal, he was awakened by screams.

By the second week, it barely mattered that it was sometimes _him_ doing the screaming.

The third week was spent in silent tears, clinging to her metal-fitted body. He had dismantled the answering machine because neither of them could bare the tinny voice it used to announce messages.

"Ianto… I can't survive like this." She tells him the fourth week.

"I'll fix it." He says.

"You always do." And she smiles for the first time in—he barely remembers the date anymore.

--

"I think… if you hook that up there…"

"Ah, I see." The part in his hands nearly snaps into place on the ceiling of one of the storage rooms in the Hub's basement.

"It's scary that I know how this works…" She trails off, something she had been doing far too often in the past months.

Over the bloodied wires and scrap metal, he meets her eyes and knows her fears. "…I'll fix it."

"I know… you always do." She smiles, but it doesn't reach the fear in her eyes, and he hates himself for it.

--

"I've carpeted the bedroom. Remember how much you hate to wake to cold floors?" He croons softly, stroking her cheek gently.

Today is a bad day. Today she can barely breathe for the pain. There had been a lot of bad days recently.

His soft words are rewarded by a faint flutter of her eyelashes. He hopes her dreams are pleasant. His rarely are.

"I'll fix it. I swear I will." He needs to move faster. He needs more time.

If he doesn't, he knows he'll lose her.

--

"We can be upgraded together."

_**BANG.**_

Is it sad that he's lost her, or that he didn't even know when it is that she was lost?

Still, Ianto holds her broken body in his arms and whispers into her skin, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Until the words have no meaning and arms have gone numb.

And even then, he wonders if he'd been lying to her the whole time.

--

Jack sits with him in his own living room. His hands are shaking.

The place looks like a whirlwind came in and threw everything around. The walls are half painted. Boxes are only half-way unpacked. There are still burn marks across the kitchen where he overloaded the circuit to get Li—

His hands are shaking.

Why can't he make them stop?

Can't he fix _anything_?

--

The third time with Jack, he makes the mistake of answering Jack's bemoaning of the sun with the automatic words, "Don't worry, I'll fix it."

As the last syllable rolls off his tongue, he feels his entire body tense and his mind numbs.

Jack's arms stiffen around him in response. "What is it?" He hisses, suddenly very awake and alert.

"Nothing." Ianto snips and wills his muscles to relax, knowing anyway that Jack can still feel the coiled tension that bunches unwillingly in his shoulders.

Jack doesn't say anything else but tightens his grip on the Welsh man.

--

"What are you so sorry for?" Jack's voice pulls him out of the depths of his foggy mind.

"What?" Ianto asks, rubbing his sore head, wincing at the knot he feels on the base of his skull. "I'm sorry that I got a kick to the head, while you were busy with its teeth?" He tries for dry humor.

Jack just gives him a _look_ but drops the subject.

--

Ianto stares at Jack.

"What…?" Jack raises a brow.

Ianto continues staring.

"What? You don't like my apron?" Jack sticks out his lip in a puppydog look that manages to look like a leer as well.

Ianto rolls his eyes and takes a sip from his cup. Then, he stares at the cup. "Where'd this come from?"

"What? I can't fix things up for you as well? You have a wonderful opinion of me—What'd I say?"

Ianto has frozen, cup halfway to his lips, but at Jack's question, his arm jerks back into motion—nearly spilling the cup all over himself. "Nothing." He says quickly.

"That's not a 'nothing' face." Jack frowns.

"It's nothing." Ianto's voice dips into a dangerous tone, but he coils it back in at the last second, "Nothing, really."

Jack's face twists at the edges. He knows this is just 'one of those things they don't talk about', like the moments when Jack slips into an alien tongue without realizing or calls Ianto by a different name during the first moments of waking.

But 'one of those things' or not, Jack's still giving him a look, and Ianto gets slightly fidgety.

"Ianto," Jack says slowly, like he's coaxing a frightened Janet back to her cell, "You don't have to do everything."

He puts his cup down on the counter but doesn't look at Jack. He's afraid that he's spilled even more of his drink all over the counter when he put it down a tad too hard. He stares at the lush brown spill rather then Jack's bright blue, filterless, eyes. Jack doesn't seem to realize how much his soul shines through his eyes.

"Ianto, listen to me." Jack languidly circles around the counter, but stops within a foot of his lover. "You don't have to fix me."

The Welshman bites his lip.

"I'm not…" Jack pauses, closes his eyes and sighs, then starts again, "I don't want you working on something impossible like that." His eyes try to pull Ianto's like magnets, Ianto can feel them drawing his gaze upwards, "I know you like to be able to fix things, to solve things, but… not me. Don't even try."

Ianto's eyes dart around as they search out Jack's blues. His lips are pressed thin, but slowly they twitch up slightly. "You look _ridiculous_." Ianto informs him, finally cracking up. "Did you nab that from Gwen?"

Jack smirks at the frilly, bunnified apron. "Actually it was a gift from awhile back. I think it's dashing. Don't you agree?"

The tea-boy-turned-field-agent snorts, "I'm sure I've got enough fashion sense for the both of us, at least. Being broken is one thing, but fashion-depraved? I think someone would take pity on us and shoot us—in the head."

"Been done. Those fashion police must enjoy their necrophilia." Jack winks lecherously and Ianto laughs.


End file.
